


Demented

by JokesterWrites



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood and Semen, Gen, Oswank, mastrubation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6547978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JokesterWrites/pseuds/JokesterWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murder makes Oswald's pulse race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demented

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically this is the "safer" version of this that I wrote.

Oswald leaned back in his chair, the heady taste of cooper and wine mixing in his mouth as he stared at the corpse of his dearly departed step-mother.

A real fairytale ending, he thought darkly. The crystal wine glass was cold in his hands, unlike the warmth of the blood that was beginning to settle against his skin. His tongue darted out, capturing the last droplets that escaped his lips. His hunger was not sated. There was an itch under his skin, a reawakening of the man he used to be. Perhaps he would never be that man again, but now he was better. Unhinged, some might say, but he was ruthless. The only weakness in his bones was the familiar ache of his leg, the reminder of what had begun his descent into the hellish world he lived in.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, “Oh Grace…” Oswald made a patronizing noise. “You thought you could fuck with me…”

The sharp cruel tones of his voice rang high and echoed about the dining room. The thrum of adrenaline and excitement still filled his veins, and Oswald gently chewed on the inside of his mouth, hand stroking down his suit. It was stained, splattered in her blood. But no matter. It was a memento. He’d keep it exactly how it was. A piece of his father, and the retribution Oswald had wrought about this…. Oswald couldn’t decide on a fitting word. She was filth, dirty scheming filth. He really ought to have dragged out her punishment. Charles and Sacha had been but mere cruel mocking children. A echo of the abuse he’d suffered as a child.

Arousal was pooling in his crotch, a familiar tug that he’d missed. A fiendish approach perhaps, but Oswald had always felt so… alive… after a murder. This wouldn’t be the first time he jerked himself off in cold blood.

A sickening satisfaction filled him as he took his length in hand, the slick of his blood covered palm against his cock was euphoric. Oswald’s breathing became more erratic as he tossed himself, eyes centered on Grace’s slackened face. The curving smile the knife had made against her neck. Nose flared and Oswald breathed in deep the aroma of the room. Death, a rancid coppery musk that elated his senses, flooding them with all the times he’d spilled it.

It was beautiful after all. Those ruby red drops, spreading into pools of sticky liquid beneath her. Sickly bitter to taste, but such a sweet entree in the end. He continues to pump his hand over his length, thumb rolling over the head as the smear of blood mixed with the opaque liquid dribbling from him.

Fuck, all he ever wanted was a little respect. And now here he was, vile and disgusting, jerking himself off in front of his dead step mother. But right now, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Revenge was delicious he thought, as his body shuddered, cock twitching in hand as it spurted ropes of cum against the table.

“Oh Grace, I hope you’ll clean up. I do hate a mess.” Oswald sneered at the corpse, following it with laughter that bellowed and grew. A madness filling the house, soaking into the very fibre of it. A house of darkness and horror. A birthplace of demented demons.

How apt, he thought zipping himself away. This house would have many ghosts now. He had made sure of that.


End file.
